


Pyke Productions

by Delay_no_more



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASoIaF Kink Meme, Asphyxiation, Bestiality (Implied), Crack, F/M, Femdom, Flaying (implied), Greyjoy porn conglomerate, Kink, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, Pegging, Porn, Strap-Ons, Violent Sex, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-10-15 11:49:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delay_no_more/pseuds/Delay_no_more
Summary: Old ASoIaF Kink Meme prompt: Greyjoys, Modern AU, lots ofcreepykinky pornA seriouslymessed upawesome AU in which the Greyjoys own a porn conglomerate and make films in which they have sex with various other people (and maybe each other) in incredibly kinky and violent ways (because Euron is creative like that) or just have sex (Victarion doesn't do kinky). They're really embarrassingly popular with the ladies and some of the men who know they shouldn't be watching this, but everything is just so brain-meltingly hot they can't stop.Needless to say, all kinks and pairings are welcome, the weirder the better!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Unlike GRRM's books, this fic IS a democracy: Feel free to add suggestions who and what you'd like to see in the comments, and I'll try to include as many of your ideas as possible.
> 
> Disclaimer: Sorry, George!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday, and Sansa wants to go out for drinks, but all her friends are mysteriously busy.

Sansa caught up with Myrcella in the hallway on her way to class.

“Want to go out for drinks later?” She asked.

Myrcella shuffled her feet. “I have a lot of course work I need to finish. Maybe next week?”

Sansa shrugged. “Sure, let's do that.” _Why does she look so flustered?_

***

She found Jeyne in the library, reading.

“Beers tonight? I'm buying.” Sansa offered.

Jeyne looked up from her book. “I have to work.”

“Oh, don't be so boring!”

“Hey, some of us actually have to earn money to pay for our tuition,” Jeyne defended herself.

***

Alla was with her cousins. Sansa was always a bit intimidated by the older Tyrell girls, but she was determined to have a beer with someone today, and Alla was her last chance.

“Drinks after class today?” She asked.

“Maybe some other time,” Alla said. “I have, uh, course work I need to do...”

“It's Friday for crying out loud!” Sansa wasn't one to lose her composure easily, but this was _ridiculous_.

The girls exchanged glances.

“What? Is this some kind of conspiracy?”

“Pyke Productions just released _The Kingsmoot II_!” Megga blurted out.

Sansa looked at her, confused. “What's _The Kingsmoot II_?”

“A... a... movie,” Alla muttered, much to Megga's and Elinor's amusement.

“It's a feature length pornographic motion picture,” Margaery explained matter-of-factly. “We always watch together when Pyke Productions releases anything new. You can join us if you want.”

Sansa didn't know how to respond to that. _What makes you think I want to group-watch porn?_ She wanted to object. “Who's Pyke Productions?” She heard herself ask instead.

“They're these three guys from Pyke,” Elinor explained. “They make some truly superb stuff. And the best part is, they star in their own productions.”

“They're _legendary_!” Megga gushed. “I can't believe you've never heard of them!”

“So, are you coming?” Margaery asked.

“I... I don't know. Shouldn't I watch _The Kingsmoot I_ first?” Sansa awkwardly tried to change topics.

“Oh, you absolutely _should_ watch _Kingsmoot I_ , but it doesn't really matter which one you watch first,” Megga said. “ _All_ of Pyke Productions' films are excellent. So, in the Kingsmoot series, basically, there are these bunch of guys-”

“And one girl!” Elinor interjected.

“Yes, these guys and one girl who fight over who will be the next king of the Iron Islands. Or the next queen, I suppose. Only instead of fighting, they _fuck_.”

“Come, watch it with us, Sansa!” Margaery insisted. “Just to make me happy.”

Somehow the oldest of the Tyrell cousins always made it impossible to turn down her invitations. Sansa sighed. “Well... I... I guess I _could_ join you.”

 


	2. The Kingsmoot II

Sansa didn't know what to bring for a group porn watching session, but in the end, she settled for a bottle of wine and a box of cheap chocolates.

“We thought you'd never come!” Megga complained. “I wanted to start the movie without you, but Margaery insisted we wait for you.”

The group of girls in Margaery's living room was much larger than Sansa had expected. And right there in the middle of it all, slouching on the couch between Alla and another girl she didn't know was... “Arya?!” _Oh gods no!_ “What are _you_ doing here?”

Her sister looked up. “My computer broke,” she said defensively. “I have to watch _somewhere_.”

It was not the kind of response Sansa had hoped for, but before she could say anything else, Margaery handed her a glass with a strange-looking blue liquid inside.

“Ready?” The Tyrell girl asked.

* * *

The opening shot consists of nothing but the gray waters of the wild, untamed sea surrounding the black mountains of Old Wyk. The Grey King's Hall is little more than a crumbled ruin on Nagga's Hill, but it is here on this holiest of sites that the Ironborn have gathered to chose their new ruler.

The young woman's body is lithe, almost boyish, her black hair cut short, her blue eyes fierce. She is naked except for the strap-on tied around her waist, surrounded by a dozen longship captains, each of them more fearsome than the other and armed to their teeth. These men are strong, Ironborn, not easy to overpower, but she is fast, agile.

One of them steps forward. She lets the man circle her briefly before she hits him in the throat. He stumbles to the ground, a look of terror on his face. He tries to get up, but with just one quick movement of her hands, she has the garrote firmly tied around his throat, cutting off the flow of blood to his brain until he goes limp.

But she never strangles them for too long. She likes to keep them half-conscious as she enters them, too weak to fight back but still fully aware of what's happening to them. She wants them to _remember_ the day they were fucked by their future queen.

“Not so tough now, eh?” She whispers in the defeated captain's ear. She knows the other men are watching, studying her closely, _learning_. She'll have to change tactics if she hopes to overpower the rest of them. But she is Ironborn, Balon Greyjoy's rightful heir, and in the end, she beats them all, jamming her wooden cock up their asses one after the other.

As the last of the captains squirms helplessly beneath her, she looks up at the Crow's Eye, knowing it's only him and her now. His blue lips twist into a taunting smile as the shot fades to black.

* * *

 “Ugh! _Another_ cliffhanger!” Megga grunted in frustration.

“It's not exactly a cliffhanger when we all know the Crow's Eye will win,” Elinor said. “The story is based on historical events, after all.”

Megga rolled her eyes. “Yes, but the question is _how_. _How_ is he going to do it!”

“Well, if you ask me, the Ironborn are self-Orientalizing way too much,” Arya said, looking up from her phone.

Sansa got up and headed for the bathroom. Her head was spinning and she still wasn't sure what she had just seen, but she knew she had some catching up to do.

 


	3. Bitches and Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ramsay taking Tywin (maybe even involving his dogs) while Roose and Jaime, Cersei, & Tyrion watch.

Shae was pouring him a glass of wine when his phone rang.

“It's Cersei,” Tyrion sighed. “I'm sorry, sweetling, I have to take this.”

Shae rolled her eyes, but she knew better than to say anything.

Tyrion swiped his finger over the screen. “Hello, sweet sister, what is it that can't possibly wait until tomorrow?”

“You won't believe it!” Cersei was giggling hysterically. “I found _another_ one! And you know what the best part is? This one is _super_ recent. It was released last month!”

Tyrion couldn't help but smile. “Well, you know what that means.”

“Tomorrow at eight,” his sister told him. “See you at Jaime's place. Don't be late!” She hung up.

“I love you too,” Tyrion said. He turned towards Shae. “We'll have to reschedule our dinner plans for tomorrow, sweetling,” he said. “I have urgent family matters.”

***

They met in Jaime's apartment, just the three of them. It was their little ritual, a family tradition almost, perhaps the only thing they did together.

His brother's place was tiny, and the three of them barely fit on his threadbare couch, but Jaime owned what was possibly the biggest flat screen in all of Westeros.

“ _Bitches and Lions..._ ” Jaime mouthed the title, a frown on his face. “Who are the bitches?”

“Margaery and her cousins!” Cersei suggested.

“Or their grandmother,” said Tyrion, who held no love for District Attorney Olenna Tyrell. He shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” He clicked play.

As it turned out, both of them were wrong. _Very_ wrong.

“Holy shit, that's the Dreadfort!” Cersei exclaimed.

Jaime shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I'm not sure I want to see this,” he admitted.

“It's another historical piece.” Tyrion tried his best to sound reassuring, even though he suddenly felt a bit nervous himself. “About the War of the Five Kings. Hey, maybe we'll learn something!”

“Don't be such a wuss, Jaime!” His sister rolled her eyes, and that settled the matter. They were going to watch this, beginning to end, Tyrion knew. He took a long swallow from the bottle of Arbor Gold in his hand and leaned back.

* * *

The Lord of the Dreadfort studies his prisoner in the dim light of the torch gripped firmly by the skeletal hand jutting from the wall. His captive is bound, but there is defiance in his eyes, scorn even. He knows he should hand the man over to his king. The Young Wolf will never forgive him for denying him such a valuable hostage. But he also knows the King in the North is young and naive. If Robb loses his prisoner –which he will if the past is any indication– the Dreadfort will end up a ruin like Castamere or Tarbeck Hall.

Roose is too attached to his castle to let that happen. He knows he's going to have to kill the Lannister lord. But there's no reason not to have some fun with him first, show him House Bolton, too, is a house to be feared.

He looks at his son, his ugly bastard son, with blood so bad it would poison any leech. “Ramsay,” he says softly. “What should we do with our prisoner?”

Ramsay smiles his ugly bastard smile. “Set him free. See how fast he can run.”

Roose nods. “Very well.”

***

The hunt is on. Nothing excites Ramsay like a good hunt: the anticipation, the pursuit, the rush of blood to the head, the rustling of leaves underneath his feet, the smell of fear in the air as his bitches close in.

“If you let him slip away, I will get out my old flaying knife and flay you myself,” his father says, and Ramsay knows he means it, but he isn't worried. Nobody ever escapes his bitches.

And indeed, it does not take long until they have caught up with him. His father's prisoner has fallen to the ground, his arms and legs covered in mud. He tries to get up and run as he sees Ramsay approaching, but he's cornered by the dogs.

“Hello there again,” Ramsay says. He loves the moment when the spark of hope in his prey's eyes dies, when they know there is no escape, when they realize their only purpose is to give him good sport.

“You run fast for an old man,” he smiles as he pulls down the man's pants. “But not fast enough, I'm afraid.”

“Please don't.” All that proud arrogance is gone from their highborn captive's voice. He makes one last attempt to pull himself up, but he's too exhausted from the chase.

“When I'm done with you, I'll give you to my dogs,” Ramsay whispers in his ear as he enters him. “They never get to have any fun. My bitches are too fierce for them. They always fight back. But you, you'll be _broken_. You'll be perfect. And then we'll see, maybe I'll sew myself a nice leather coat.”

He looks up at his father and meets his eyes, those two cold chips of ice that are so much like his own yet always judge him so mercilessly. Lord Roose does not smile, but Ramsay knows he is proud of him for once.

* * *

 _A flayed man has no secrets indeed_ , the end credits read as Tyrion was just about to finish his second bottle of wine.

They all sat in awkward silence, his brother still covering his eyes with his one hand.

“Fuck man, that was _sick_ ,” Cersei finally said, half disgusted, half in awe. “Like, the dogs and the flaying scene, that was messed up, holy shit!”

“I'm surprised this didn't make the history books,” Tyrion tried to jest.

Jaime lowered his hand. “Do you think dad needs money?” He asked, concern clearly written in his eyes.

Tyrion, who always did his father's taxes, shook his head. “Nope. He's doing great financially. I hate to say this, but he's not in this for the money.”

Jaime looked distraught. “Maybe the Greyjoys are blackmailing him?” He suggested.

Somehow, Tyrion did not think so, but his brother clearly wasn't ready to accept the fact that their father starred in porn for fun. “I can look into that,” he promised.

“Do you think dad watches any of these himself?” His brother asked after another long pause of silence.

“Don't be _ridiculous_ , Jaime,” Cersei laughed. “ _Everyone_ in Westeros watches Pyke Productions.” Her lips curled into a devious smile. “You know what? We should do one for him. The three of us. Say hello. Make him proud. I have Euron's number somewhere. I could give him a call, set something up.”

Tyrion laughed. “Oh, sweet sister, I like how you think!”

 


End file.
